


Certain Things

by cuppalou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coincidence, Eleanor and Louis are best friends and co-workers, Frustration, Insecure Harry, Lots of song references, Love, M/M, Miscomunication, Mutual Pining, Niall flys a lot, OT5 Friendship, OT5-Centric, Perrie is Liam's assistant, Pining, Road Trips, Sadness, Sex, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sophia is pretty much the only person Zayn doesn't hate in his industry, They all need to get their heads out of their asses most of the time, Travel, about 20k is introductions basically, but you get what I mean, dentist!Liam, everyone wants to know if he's a part of the mile high club, everything just kind of happens, five perspectives but I think I pull it off, friends to lovers kind of, furniture store!Harry, hair stylist!Zayn, he's pretty willing to tell, just enough to please, lots of fluff, music teacher!Louis, not a lot, not young&beautiful long, questions of whether fate exists, theif!Niall, this is proabably going to be really fucking long, thrill seeker niall, unhappy zayn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppalou/pseuds/cuppalou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a scared and insecure twenty year old who works at a mattress store.</p><p>Louis is a year one/year four music teacher. </p><p>Zayn is a world renowned hair stylist.</p><p>Liam is a dentist. </p><p>No one really knows what Niall does, but they love him anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Or// In which what you thought is not what is, and what is... is not what you thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. H/N

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this just so happens to be my first ever posted AO3 fic. I hope you like it well enough. It's all very tangled up, and I should probably have it beta-ed and brit-picked (any volunteers? no? okay). It is currently a work in progress, so do not go on here expecting to find a completed fic. You will be thoroughly disappointed. For all of you who only read completed pieces, please bookmark this and come back to it when it is finished. It would be greatly appreciated. That being said enjoy, grab some popcorn, and sit down. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Harry is lying in his grungy ceramic tub. He stares at the ceiling watching what looks suspiciously like a leak dripping down, and wonders why he moved in the first place. He lives alone and he knows it’s stupid, but he almost wishes he didn’t. He’s aware he should be grateful that his student salary even gives him the opportunity. Most people can’t afford to live on their own in Manchester at twenty. 

 

He knows that, but if this is what living alone feels like he’s not sure he’s particularly fond of it. He misses having to share a bathroom with his mother and sister. He misses not having them there to tease him about his long showers, or doing his hair. Gemma always said he was the girl of the family because he’d spend so much time in the bathroom, but really he was just an incredibly insecure boy. Still is actually. He laughs at how silly he’s being. Harry is so sentimental it’s ridiculous.

 

There’s something about this room that makes him appreciate the the nuts and bolts of things. Copper pipes line the interior walls; covering up the yellowing concrete bricks. It looks unfinished, as every good thing should be. Permanence ends the possibility for things to improve. There’s holes, cracks, loose floorboards, water damage, and not enough money to fix anything. Somehow that’s better than any palace ever could be. 

 

When he was younger his dream was to move to London, and make something of himself. He applied to all the best universities. He even got into most of them. One look at the price, and his safety schools came into play; Manchester University being at the top of his list. Harry, being his anti-social self immediately decided he wanted his own flat versus the average shared dorm room. 

 

That’s how he got here. Two bedrooms and two beds for the odd chance that anyone wants to stay, which isn’t likely, but Harry likes the extra space. He’s got a couch that looks like it just might be naturally deformed. Maybe that’s why he likes it so much. A shower with a tub, running water, and a quiet refrigerator. Working electricity, a washing machine, and even very few rodents. All in all he can’t really complain. He questions it regardless. 

 

When Harry was six, and his sister stopped playing with dolls he asked his mother why. “All good things come to an end, darling.” She had said with a sad smile reaching from the corners of her mouth. He asked if bad things were the same way, and she agreed with less commitment. He couldn’t understand at the time, but now that he’s left home he knows what she meant. 

 

Good things end fast, like hitting-the-brakes-so-hard-you-leave-skid-marks-because -you-almost-ran-over-a-kid-in-a-crosswalk-where-you-shouldn’t-have-been-going-forty-five-in-the-first-place. Bad things fade away slowly like there-was-something-I-was-supposed-to-do- but-forgot-and-I’ll-probably-remember-later. 

 

This is only significant for the fact that, he never quite understood why people leave the people they love in the first place, until now. All good things come to an end. And maybe it’s not so much an end as it is a new beginning. At some point you’ve got to learn to be alone so that you can be together.

 

Harry thinks that despite the fact he’s been here for two years, he’s never actually taken the place all in. Never restarted. His mind was as much in Holmes Chapel in Winifred High as it is in Manchester at the University. He thinks now is as good of time as ever for reconstruction; not on his room, but within himself. 

 

He realizes a moment too late that his bath has turned cold, and he still needs to wash his hair. After all, working in the video store at the mall doesn’t allow you to waste precious water. Harry scrubs some cheap clean smelling soap in his hair, submerges, and resurfaces. He’s done, but he doesn’t want to get out. It feels strangely different, and he knows for once that the feeling isn’t wrong. 

 

Something in the air changed from dreary to maybe-I’ll-be-okay in the last twenty minutes. WHY DO I LIVE HERE? to Why do I live here? His dirty scratchy towel doesn’t seem like as big of a burden anymore, and his discomfort level has gone down increasingly.

 

Maybe he thinks too much, or maybe he thinks just enough. Either way his thoughts lull him to sleep that night as he watches Marshall from How I Met Your Mother yell at Barney for doing something stupid again. He’s not sure what it was, but it made him happy anyway.

 

&&&

 

Shit. That’s the only word running through Niall’s head right now. Although it isn’t the most articulate, it gets his point across. He’s in trouble. A lot of trouble. He currently has two options, and neither are very forgiving. He can either exit the roof and get fired, or stay and possibly get killed. 

 

Niall thinks he’s probably better off with the latter. Ladder, huh. That would be nice. Instead he’s got a long thin strip of cable cord and a flimsy key chain. His original plan of breaking into a side door failed miserably, and he nearly got caught. He hadn’t thought he would have to do anything else, which was stupid. He can definitely make it work though. He’s been much worse off before.

 

Directly below him through the roof lies a priceless Van Gogh. It’s no Starry Night, but it’s worth an estimated 35 million and his boss is one hundred and ten percent positive they could get more than that out of someone. Colton knows a ridiculous amount of people. Niall wouldn’t be surprised if there was a couple billionaires in there. 

 

He’s got the place mapped out. He knows that underneath him there is a twenty foot drop to the floor, and that once he’s on the ground there is roughly three feet between him and the painting. He’s aware of the transparent glass box encasing it, and how it’s set up with a thermal heat system. 

 

There is a statue of either a Greek or Roman god to it’s left and a doorway to it’s right. There is a security guard on watch outside every door of this particular showroom, meaning there is most likely one in the door next to him. He knows all the exits and entrances imaginable in this place, and there’s no way he’s going home empty handed. He didn’t come to America for nothing. 

 

Niall is prepared. Now he just needs to get to the ground without breaking his neck, or anything for that matter. He carves a small hole in the glass ceiling, without being caught which he’ll take as a good sign. That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to get out of there as quickly as possible. It’s an art gallery in San Francisco for gods sake, it can’t be that easy. Even for a professional.

 

He prys open the metal loop with his teeth, ties the wire through it, then hooks it onto one of the gutter pipes. He supposes it’ll have to do, he just hopes it doesn’t snap before he reaches the bottom. 

 

&&&

 

There’s a staircase, that leads to a staircase, that leads to yet another staircase. Harry honestly regrets asking not to be on ground level. Having to climb up and down seven flights of stairs daily is not something he signed up for. Alright, so it sort of is because in any building things are bound to break. The elevator just so happens to be one of them. 

 

Harry guesses it’s just in his cards that day. He was supposed to meet his mum for breakfast, but he woke up late and now the elevator is down for repair. He wonders why today of all days this had to happen. He hasn’t seen his mother in what feels like forever, and he can’t even bother to be on time.

 

It isn’t until he reaches the car that he registers that he forgot his keys upstairs. Fantastic. No, really. This day couldn’t get any better. He makes the trip back up, as he calls his mother and apologizes profusely. She reassures him that it’s alright and that they’ll just meet for brunch instead. 

 

When he opens his flat door, he realizes he failed to remember to take his garbage out, and if he doesn’t do it now he’ll be forced to wait until next week. Harry does this, then goes to open his car door. Unfortunately he forgot his keys; again. Back and forth, up and down. 

 

By the time he reaches the main floor again he’s sweating and panting, and his white t-shirt under his knit burgundy sweater is surely transparent. This is not the way he planned to look when he saw his mum for the first time in months. Harry supposes that’s just the way it is. That’s how his life goes.

 

He arrives at Randi’s Hash & Pancakes just in time for lunch, and prays that the remainder of his day goes much smoother than this morning.

 

&&&

 

Niall shimmies down the cable quietly. He’s trying to be careful, but he doesn’t want to risk going down too slowly. The wire could fray at any moment, and he prefers not falling down ten feet. 

 

Of course what happens next is exactly that. The cable is intact and the key chain hasn’t moved; his gloves are just ridiculously slippery. He slides down slowly at first; then loses his grip entirely, landing on his back with a crunch of protest. He lies on the floor for a few seconds with his ear to the ground; hoping nobody will come. They don’t. 

 

Injuries have always been his specialty. When he was four he tried to cartwheel off a roof onto a trampoline; breaking both his Ulna and Radius. At seven Niall decided he wanted to be a skateboarder, so he attempted to do a handstand on his board. That ended in a moderately severe concussion. Once during a class project at ten he got in a fist fight that ended with a broken nose. There’s more than that, and on second thought maybe he’s just good at being stupid. 

 

He gets up and is not surprised by the shooting pain in his spine. It may not have been quite ten feet. Niall’s always been one to exaggerate, but it was high enough. He knows he’ll most likely have to see a doctor when he gets back, but it shouldn’t be anything too serious. 

 

Sometimes Niall thinks he might be a bit too lucky when getting away with things. He wishes this were as exciting as it used to be. He wants the adrenaline rush, and the fear that comes with stealing. He thinks the last time he was excited about something was when he was seventeen. He wants to be able to feel something again. 

 

Niall always seems to come up short. He picks himself up off the ground. He dusts himself off on instinct, even though he knows the janitors have just been through this room and there is probably nothing on the floor. He even watched them leave, yet he can’t help himself. 

 

He hates how this has become routine. Niall doesn’t do routine. He doesn’t like it. Avoids it like the plague, or cancer, or some other type of bacterial or viral disease. Maybe if he got a terminal disease he wouldn’t be so bored. Sadly, even that doesn’t sound appealing. Not like it really should. He just wishes something would. 

 

Everything has lost it’s glow. There is nothing that seems special, or thrilling, dangerous or amazing. It’s all dull and bland. He could be making a cupcake or jumping out of a plane. It all feels the same. That glittery edge that usually surrounds life and adventure is gone. He just wishes it would come back.

 

&&&

 

Harry’s mum is seated in a booth somewhere near the back of the restaurant. She didn’t get a seat by a window, because she knows Harry gets distracted easily. She must need to talk about something important. Something he probably doesn’t want to hear. He immediately assumes it’s about Gemma. There’s not that many other topics where Harry zones out. 

 

He’ll turn his ears off like he’s a five year old child trying to get his way. He figures in some ways he sort of is. That there’s still a kid in him somewhere. That it never really left, only dismissed itself for later evaluation.

 

“Harry!” Anne squeaks with pure joy apparent in her voice. 

 

Harry loves his mum a whole lot.

 

“Hi, mum.” He grins, because honestly he can’t help himself. Anne is his favorite person in the world. Not like he knows many people… That’s beside the point. The point is that he loves his mum and she loves him back. Harry thinks that may be the only important thing. 

 

“Darling, how have you been? I feel like we haven’t spoken in ages.” Harry laughs. His mum has always been able to make him laugh. It has never been anything but simple with her. He loves it. Loves how he can have this one nice thing. That it’s allowed. All his insecurities disperse when she is near. The voice in his head isn’t so loud, and everything gets to be quiet if only for a little while. He couldn’t thank her enough for that. 

 

“We just spoke on the phone l-last night. I’m good though.” His stutter almost isn’t even there when he’s around her. 

 

“That’s fantastic! I’m good as well. Tibby’s been keeping me busy, which is nice. It gets me out of the house and such, which I guess I need.” Harry kind of misses half of what she says. He understands the gist of it, though, so he shouldn’t have to make her repeat herself.

 

He knows she hates when he does that. “Oh yeah, that’s great.” Harry has limited his vocabulary even more since the last time he saw his mum, and he thinks she can tell. She ignores it nonetheless. At least so far. He’s glad. Harry hates when she notices things like that. He wants to be perfect. Just like her. Stuttering and not talking is an imperfection, and he wants to get rid of it. Wishes he knew how. 

 

“Yes it is. What’ve you been up to? Have you met anyone new?” Harry freezes at that. Of course he hasn’t. He never does. She knows that so why does she always have to ask like the answer might have changed? 

 

“Um n-no. No.” He trips a lot, with both his feet and his words. He wishes he could live in his bathtub. It’s always seemed like a safe place, somewhere his thoughts are smart and articulate. He can use seventeen letter words as he chooses and everything he says sounds great. Unfortunately he doesn’t see that happening anytime soon. 

 

“What have you been up to then?” Another impending question seems to fly over his head. Despite his love for his mother he just can’t seem to focus at all today, and he’s tired of hearing the same old standard questions over and over again. He doesn’t want to waste words of things she already knows. 

 

“Y-you know t-the usual.” Harry says, voice small, as if you could imagine it belonging to a goldfish. It obviously doesn’t, though. It’s all him. 

 

“I really don’t, dear. I’ve got time, so talk. Use your words I know you have them.” He absolutely hates when she says that. Use your words. It makes him feel little and unimportant. She obviously doesn’t know that, though. Wouldn’t say it if she did. She’s just trying to comfort him to the best of her abilities. Trying to help him. Somehow her words have neither affect on him. 

 

Speaking gives him anxiety. She knows that better than anyone. He’d rather not have to do it at all. There’s just another thing that isn’t an option for him. That seems to be the way most of his dreams go. Useless, he is. 

 

“I guess I… I l-like Uni enough?” Anne half frowns in mild disappointment. 

 

“Are you asking me Harry?” He shakes his head.

 

“Uh no I… I mean yes… No? … I don’t know.” Harry drops his head in both embarrassment and shame. He can’t even decide between a two and three letter word; something as simple as yes and no. How is he ever supposed to say something bigger? Something of significance. He sighs, and his mum pats his shoulder. 

 

“That’s quite alright. I understand.” The thing is, she actually doesn’t. How could she? She can speak perfectly normal. 

 

“Let’s order our food, and then have a chat. That sound alright?” She asks. Harry loves that she cares so much. He appreciates the effort regardless of his frustrating stutter. That his opinions genuinely seem to matter when he’s in her presence. He still feels awful for taking so long to say those things. 

 

“Yeah.” Simple enough. He likes simple things. Actually depends on them mostly. Harry’s glad that they still exist even if they are few and far between. Easy. He can handle that.

 

&&&

 

Niall doesn’t have guards chasing after him, surprisingly enough. His fall didn’t attract any unwanted attention. The painting lies right before him just like he knew it would. Everything he planned out in his head is going accordingly, except his original idea. If that isn’t good enough he doesn’t want to know what is. 

 

The glass that surrounds the canvas, the heat sensor and security cameras are precisely placed around the masterpiece. Niall’s not sure of his plan of action yet. He never made it to the control room, and wonders how he can work around that tiny detail. He can’t really. The glass is sealed tight and the alarms are ready to ring out at any moment. 

 

Niall’s always liked the technical side of things, because they challenge his brain. Every single time it’s something different. New codes and changing passwords make things interesting. The physical aspect of taking things is only challenging for so long. In his limited stock of supplies he manages to find a pair of rubber gloves. 

 

In the bathroom he soaks them in water and tries his best to make them the correct temperature. As quickly as possible he puts them on and races to remove and lift the case; hopefully with few complications. 

 

&&&

 

Harry orders chocolate chip pancakes while Anne orders blueberry brioche and a cup of dark roast coffee. They are just awaiting their foods arrival. Everything seems utterly silent in defiance of all the noise around them. He’s used to it, but he knows she isn’t. 

 

“So…” she says then pauses. She’s most likely hoping he’ll finish her sentence. His mum has always been overly optimistic. Harry thinks that that’s a great thing; her being that way. It makes him smile anyway. He knows that’s not all that important to other people, but still. It’s something.

 

“Harry, Gemma’s getting married.” He now thinks that maybe she wasn’t waiting for him. Maybe she had given up on that at this point. She was probably just nervous as to how he would take the news. 

 

“Not everything is about you Harry.” Gemma’s voice echoes in his brain on an endless repeat of how that horrendous day ended up playing out. He was hoping he’d never have to go through that again. Apparently he was wrong.

 

&&&

 

Niall leaves his gloves on while gripping the painting tightly, as he exits the building in a sprint. Alarms are ringing out, and someone is bound to be there soon. If it was only him and he didn’t have the painting, going to prison wouldn’t be all that bad. 

 

He’d probably only get charged with breaking and entering, and his boss Colton would undoubtedly get him out somehow.

 

Unfortunately he does have a rather expensive painting in hand, and running is the only option he is presented with currently. He’s obviously not going to go back the way he came; so he tries his hand at his original plan, but backwards. 

 

He twists and turns through hallways, past murals of trees, and sketches of naked women. 

 

He ends up outside of a back door near a dumpster, which is lucky. He hides behind it for a solid five minutes until he deems the perimeter clear enough for him to get away. Easy enough.

 

&&&

 

“Harry there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Gemma’s smile is warm and comforting. He’s always loved how something as simple as a smile can do that.

 

“Who is it Gem’s?” Harry quirks curiously. 

 

“Actually, you might already know him. Riley Thames. He goes to our school and he’s nice. He treats me well. I think you’ll like him.” Gemma is right. Harry did know who he is. She’s wrong about thinking Harry would like him, though. See, the thing is if you live in a place like New York City, or London, or even Manchester it’s probably okay to be gay. In Holmes Chapel? Not so much. 

 

The strange thing was that at fourteen he had no idea he was gay. He didn’t think he acted like it, and he definitely didn’t dress like it, so when Riley bullied him and called him a fag it didn’t bother him as much as it could. He was still a bully regardless, and now Gemma wanted him to meet Riley. 

 

How can you meet someone you’ve already met? Harry had no idea. A TARDIS maybe? It must be. That is the answer to pretty much everything, after all. 

 

“Harry this is Riley. Riley, Harry.” They shake hands, and if Riley squeezes his hand a little too hard Harry doesn’t acknowledge it. He tries his best not to feed the fire and all that. The dinner ends up going over fine; much better than he expected it to at least. Harry is just about to go to bed when he hears Gemma speaking softly, but harshly. 

 

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Honestly, he doesn’t; it just sort of happens. The pair is whispering, and looking back on it he was pretty obviously listening in on them. It was really for the greater good though. At least that’s what he told himself.

 

“ Babe, I know your brother’s a fag and I just can’t be around that. It’s fucking disgusting.” The way he talks to her makes it sound almost endearing, despite his ugly words. Harry was confused as to why they were talking about him though. 

 

“Riley please. I’ll move out. I love you. Harry? He doesn’t matter. It’s not like anyone actually cares about him. He’s just a loser. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me.” Gemma pleads. Harry can tell that she’s crying, and her voice cracks as if her body’s giving up at the mere thought of them splitting up.

 

Why is she saying such mean things? She can't mean them. It sounds like she means them though… Her voice didn’t even stutter when she said those things about him. How could his sister, the sister he loves and looks up to, say something so awful about him? 

 

“I love you too, baby, but until I know he’s not around and I’m safe, we can’t be together.” Riley says it as if Harry possesses some type of infection that he might catch if he comes too close. Harry’s not even gay, but he knows there’s nothing wrong with it. Is there? His best friend is gay and he doesn’t treat him any differently than he did before he had known. Should he? Is it bad? 

 

No, Harry thinks. Riley’s just an ignorant idiot. Being gay is nothing like having contagious disease. It’s not. “Where do you expect me to go Riley? I can’t afford to live on my own.” She says it with so much power and anger. It startles Harry by just how much she means it. 

 

“Live with me. It’s not like anyone is ever at my house anyway. It’d be like living by ourselves.” No. Harry thinks that Gemma can’t move out. Simply cannot. It’s not an option. He would miss her. Their mum would miss her.

 

“Fine. Help me pack up my things, douchebag.” Harry can’t wrap his head around it. The room is spinning, and he’s becoming more and more lightheaded the longer he stands there. He feels like screaming, or crying, or anything that will help him feel even the faintest bit better. None of those options seem feasible so he opts for the unspoken one. Running. He sprints into his room and slams the door loud enough that it feels as if it could shake the entire house. He sobs into his pillow, shouting at no one, and by the morning Gemma is gone. 

 

&&&

 

When Niall finally reaches home it’s well past three in the morning. He’s entirely worn out and ready to fall asleep anywhere. He nearly forgets that the floor is in fact not his bed. He makes it to his bedroom though. He’s got the canvas stowed away hidden in his closet, his day’s clothes off, and he’s just pulling his duvet up to his chin when a loud noise sounds from his phone. “Ooohhh this mister steal your girl, ooh this mister steal your girl, oohhhh aye girl, aye girl, aye girl, aye girl, aye girl, let go.” 

 

Niall knows it’s Colton immediately. He can tell by the ringtone. Then he thinks that he’s probably going to be in a lot of trouble, having not remembered to call him and reassure that he was safe along with the painting. He really doesn’t want to pick up. He’s tired and can barely keep his eyes from falling shut, but he answers anyway. He knows it’ll only be worse for him in the morning if he neglects the call tonight. 

 

“Hello?” Niall’s own voice is almost past his own recognition at this point in time.

 

“Niall, what the hell, man! Where are you?” Niall grumbles out a sleepy whine. 

 

“Colton, I’m dead.” 

 

“Cool, I’ve always wanted a ghost for a friend. Now, where’s my Van Gogh? I want my money.” He says it like having your closest friend die isn’t unusual or depressing whatsoever. Either that or he knows how melodramatic Niall can be. Niall’s going to go with the first one for his own sake.

 

“I’ve got it, it’s safe. Just let me sleep.” 

 

“Alright, nightie night Nialler.” 

 

“Bye, asshole.”

 

&&&

 

“W-what do you mean getting m-mar-married?” Harry questions although it’s more so a rhetorical question than anything else. She’s getting married. It’s no problem. Except it is. Non-problematic things are Harry’s favorite. This by far is nowhere near Harry’s favorite. 

 

“She’s getting married is what I mean.” Anne tries to laugh, but it comes out as nothing more than a dry chuckle. Harry isn’t laughing, though. Gemma marrying Riley is not funny. Not in the slightest. 

 

“W-when?” Harry needs to know. He won’t go, but he has to know when. 

 

“Seven months, something like May 15th.” 

 

“May?” Harry wants to be sure he heard correctly. Anne sighs. 

 

“Yes, May. They’re expecting you to be there.” Harry freezes. He can’t, absolutely cannot see that face again. Not after everything he’s been through. 

 

“I’m sorry, darling, but it’s not optional. You have to go. You’re her brother.” If there is a way to get out of this he will find it, without a doubt. For now, he’s nearly paralyzed with terror. He hastily hugs his mother goodbye, and promises to call her again soon. 

 

He’s weak and so is the excuse he left his mother with, but he had to get out of there. He needed some space. He wanted to get fresh air to clear his head, and have some time to himself. He’ll get over this eventually, just not now. Not yet.


	2. L/Z

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis plays Guitar Hero with ten year olds and Zayn goes on a walk.

Louis did not sign up for this. He positively didn’t say he would play Guitar Hero with a bunch of ten year olds at the school on a Friday night, yet here he is. He’s not completely clear on how it occurred. All he knows is that the school had been short staffed for the year five kick off party. The thing that was weird was that Louis doesn’t even teach year five, not really. He teaches music to the year one/year four kids, and sometimes substitutes for the year five physical education class. 

 

He choose to teach those year levels for a reason, maybe not only one reason but only one of them actually mattered. He chose it so he wouldn’t have to deal with things such as ‘Suzie stole my boyfriend’, ‘Who do you like Mr. Tomlinson?’, ‘Are you married?’, ‘Me and Jimmy are going to hang out tomorrow.’, ‘Have you seen the movie Sex Tape?’.

 

Louis wonders what the fuck actually happens to children between the ages of five and ten. He’d like to know because if he ever has kids it’ll more than likely break his heart. Louis wants to know what kind of parent lets their kid watch a movie entitled Sex Tape? What’s next? Porn? Oh god, poor children. He wishes he could help them, he truthfully does. He can’t, though, so what’s the use in trying? 

 

He can’t adopt them all… that’s not how things work. Instead he continues to play Guitar Hero. He’s pretty sure they’ve done Livin’ On A Prayer about six times in a row now, and that the kids aren’t planning on changing the song anytime soon. He actually thinks he’s alright with that. Repetitiveness is part of the childish charm that Louis loves so much. They should at least be able to hold onto a tiny fraction of their innocence. 

 

Unless that somehow involves watching that movie, because no. Just no. Louis and a boy named Payton are on the mics. Taylor and Mikel are on the guitars, and Keith takes the drums. They suck. They really do, and Louis’ not going to sugarcoat it. Although he doesn’t want to be here, and he wishes he didn’t have to hear small girls go on and on about boys they like, he’s enjoying himself quite a lot. He loves children, and although he can’t shield them from the world, can’t obliviously hope they’ll never grow up, right now they’re ten, and they’re playing Guitar Hero. Nothing is wrong with that. Absolutely nothing.

 

&&&

 

Cutting, coloring, and styling famous people’s hair can have its perks; example number one being that Zayn gets to be around celebrities all the time. He’s even sort of famous himself. In an entirely different way of course. He was legendary in a Vogue and red carpet kind of way. He was usually behind the scenes but people still recognized him, because they recognized his name. It’s become almost a brand in itself.

 

“Who did your hair?”

 

“Zayn Malik.” and everyone would just nod, because they knew who it was. They only had to ask for clarification. It’s somehow managed to get to that point. Zayn thinks that once you reach that level that you drop off to a point of no return. No more ‘Oh, I don’t think I like this. Let’s try something new out.’ It really sucks. 

 

Zayn likes to do crazy colors and styles that are in no way, shape, or form normal. He’s starting to miss the basics though. He misses old ladies talking about covering their greys, little girls giggling and squirming around in their chairs, and young ladies getting their hair done for formal dances and weddings. He doesn’t do those things anymore, but he really wishes he did. 

 

He supposes with having money there comes a figurative price you have to pay. The more you make the less you can trust people. The less people feel they can trust you. You can have all the big and expensive things you want, but you have no one to share them with. All the things you wanted become useless. Cheap wine coolers start to sound much more appealing than any fancy imported champagne. The things you thought mattered all of a sudden lose their importance, because you’re all alone. 

 

You have a big house and people to clean it for you. A gaudy car and someone to drive it for you. A person to pick up your dry cleaning, and run and get groceries, and make you dinner. They’ll do anything, and it’s all too staggering and unnecessary. There’s a fine line between being helpful and being a servant. It doesn’t matter that they’re paid; not to Zayn, because they’re people. 

 

People with families and dreams that never came true. Over worked people. Exhausted people. Zayn knows how it feels, really, he does. It’s a contrast. They all are different, but they feel the same way. Zayn fails to tell them any of that though. He just leaves it be. Calls it life, because what else is there for him to do? 

 

When you’re Zayn Malik you have a reputation to uphold. You have to seem more put together than you are, because if they see you so much as stumble they will tear you apart and leave you with nothing. Even though he despises the fame, and the fortune, and the attention he considers himself lucky. At least he loves what he does.

 

&&&

 

Louis arrives at home sometime after eleven that night. The party had ended at nine, but the clean up took forever. He would say he did an exceptional job, and complain about having to do everything if it weren’t for the fact that he’s enervated and he doesn’t have anyone to grumble to. He unlocks his door, toes off his shoes and stands still for a moment. He takes in the view from his window, which, if he’s being honest, isn’t much of a view at all. 

 

His window looks out towards a building across the street. All he can see is that and others that surround it. Nothing spectacular, but the flat is cheap and spacious. He really can’t ask for anything else. He adores his job, makes enough money to survive, his place isn’t that far from some nice shops, and it’s safe. He believes he’s got almost everything he’s ever dreamed of. Except someone to talk to… 

 

He wishes he didn’t feel the need to have human contact. Wishes he was perfectly content in being alone, but he’s not. He most likely never will be, but that’s a conversation for another day. 

 

&&&

 

Zayn decides to go out the next day. To where? He has no idea. All he knows is that his house (although large) is suffocating him. He wishes it weren’t this way. That he could be more grateful and appreciative than he is. That he didn’t have to make himself sound egotistical, full of himself, and other things that he never wants attached to his name. Wishing doesn’t make things happen though. You can’t just hope to have one million dollars one day, and have it appear on your doorstep the next. 

 

Right, he needs to get out of the house. He throws on a hoodie and some sunglasses, grabs his keys and practically sprints out the door. He was going to drive, but he could really use the extra time to clear his head. He walks, breathing the fresh crisp air in deeply. Zayn closes his eyes for a moment, not actually thinking about anything. That was his first mistake, after all. You should presumably never under any circumstance walk with your eyes shut, but Zayn’s not thinking. That is the point of this in the end. 

 

He just wanted to be there. Present in the moment, and nothing else. That appears to occur an awful lot. Possibly too often for his own well being. Walking while closing your eyes is ill advised, but texting while walking is even worse. Honestly Zayn knows that probably sounds very inaccurate, but it’s the truth. 

 

When it just so happens that you have one person texting going one way and one person closing their eyes going another, nothing good is bound to come from it. The two collide into each other, and land on the ground with a loud thud. The person opposite of Zayn swears, while he apologizes profusely. 

 

“Not your fault…” The woman mumbles, and really how could it not be his fault? He was the one walking with his eyes shut. 

 

“It totally was.” Zayn frowns apologetically. He feels extremely bad now. 

 

“Nothing to worry about. I’m Orphelia, you are?” Zayn thinks he has never been more grateful for someone not recognizing him in his whole life. 

 

“Zayn. Nice to meet you.” They shake hands and everything feels too formal, almost as if it had been rehearsed. It wasn’t, of course. Zayn’s never meet Orphelia, and vice versa. That doesn’t make the ever present feeling of something being wrong go away. 

 

“Were either of your parents writers, Zayn?” Zayn stares at her curiously.

 

“Yeah... How did you know?” He thinks it rather creepy that she goes out and just says that. This is not usually how his conversations with strangers go. 

 

“You’ve got a name that only a writer or a pop-star would give their child. I do, too, incase you couldn’t tell.” She smiles. Zayn thinks she’s got a really lovely smile. He absolutely adores people with beautiful smiles. If he weren’t a stylist he most likely would have been a dentist, so that he could look at beautiful teeth all day long. Then again not all teeth are beautiful, and no one actually wants to date a dentist, so that doesn’t play out well. Whatever. 

 

“Zayn, are you with me?” And, oops. He kind of forgot he was speaking with someone, and he’s probably answered some question that he didn’t even here. He thinks it’s best to just nod and smile. That usually works for everything else. He zones out so often that he began to automatically answer things, even when he doesn’t realize it. He’s not exactly sure how it works, but it obviously does. 

 

“I didn’t ask you a yes or no question.” Zayn freezes. He’s been caught, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Doesn’t know whether he should say sorry or just leave. 

 

“You think too much. Let’s go to McDonald’s. I’ll buy you an ice cream cone off of the dollar menu.” Zayn hasn’t been to McDonald’s in at least three years. Hasn’t needed to. Hasn’t wanted to. Right now, though, it sounds like one of the best ideas anyone’s ever had. 

 

&&&

 

Louis wakes up to the smell of tea and muffins. He doesn’t know how anyone would get into his flat. Most likely doesn’t want to know, but anyone who is willing to make him breakfast is a friend of his. An excellent friend of his at that. He realizes he isn’t wearing a shirt or pants, so he configures that he should probably put both on before he goes into the kitchen to find an ax murderer or something of the sorts. He wouldn’t be surprised. 

 

He checks the time, opens the curtains, ruffles his hair a bit then heads out. He’s really glad that it’s a Saturday. He loves Saturday’s. As he walks out of his bedroom into the hallway he figures it can’t hurt to bring some kind of weapon with him. Just in case. He grabs a book off of his shelf in the hallway (the thickest he can find) then proceeds on his way. He figures he can at least pass the book off as some reading material if there actually isn’t a threat in his kitchen.

 

He cautiously steps out into the open, takes a deep breath, then makes his way over to his destination. His nose is greeted by the delightful scent of pumpkin spice and Earl Grey. A perfect combination if he says so himself. His eyes wander around the small room momentarily, trying to take everything in. It confuses him. No one is there, yet there’s piping hot muffins on the stove, and a steaming cup of tea on the counter. 

 

He’ll take it though. Louis doesn’t care if they’re poisoned, or have hidden razor blades inside of them. He’s starving, and his ears are still ringing a little from the loud children last night. As he reaches over and picks up a small cake a blue post it note catches his attention. It’s stuck on the center of his refrigerator door. He picks it up, and reads it to himself. 

 

Hey Lou! Heard you got stuck with my kids last night, so I figured you deserved a nice breakfast to wake up to. Max proposed to me, at our dinner!!! Can you believe it??? I seriously appreciate what you did… so much. Coffee sometime soon? Let me know! -El

 

It all makes sense now. Louis laughs because of course it was Eleanor, and of course Max proposed! Louis now feels incredibly stupid having thought it could’ve been an ax murderer. What kind of criminal would make him tea and muffins? It doesn’t sound entirely right, but Louis had just woken up so it’s excusable he supposes. He eats his breakfast, then decides he should text El to thank her. 

 

to El<3: Hey you! How did you even get into my flat??? Thank you though, I appreciate it! That’s fantastic! I knew he would. How does Wednesday morning before class sound? We need to catch up! Love you! -Lou.x

 

He thinks that’s a good note to leave his morning off at. 

 

&&&

 

When they arrive, and Orphelia asks whether Zayn is hungry he nods. This leads to her deciding to buy the entire menu. Literally. He swears she couldn’t carry anything else if she tried, and she’s got two employee’s assisting her. Zayn attempts to help as well, but she just pushes him away and gestures towards an open booth. The two sit across from each other while Orphelia attempts to spread the food out so it’s all easily accessible and not stacked on top of other things. 

 

It doesn’t work too well, but Zayn doesn’t mind. Not at all, because he’s at a local McDonald’s in the middle of the night with a girl he hadn’t even known existed before today. He needed this. Something sporadic and random. Something blissfully spontaneous. He’s pretty sure he’s just said the same thing three times in a row, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Nothing matters in this moment. All his stress fades away, and mixes into the scent of cheap fast food that surrounds them. 

 

“Thank you.” He’s not sure why he chose to say it at that exact moment. Not even sure whether he was saying thank you for the food, or the company. Both maybe, but regardless it just feels right. Like nothing is holding him back from stuffing his face with finger food. Like Orphelia wouldn't judge him for it. It’s an extremely comforting thought. 

 

They eat in silence for a little while, gingerly munching on greasy fries and what’s probably considered to be inedible to a majority of his friends. Orphelia is the first to speak up. 

 

“So, why were you closing your eyes and walking at the same time? You know usually you sleep in a bed, not on a sidewalk.” Zayn stares at her, and wonders how she knew that. They ran into each other so she must have been just as out of it as he had.

 

“How?” He can't think straight enough to finish his question. 

 

“I wasn't actually texting, I'm not that stupid. I was just pretending so I didn't have to look dumb when I accidentally ran into you.” Zayn is now past the mark of being confused. He’s overwhelmed.

 

“Why would you purposefully run into me?” He can't help but think that she must know. Know that he’s famous, and that he’s not perfect, and that’s how she knew that his father was an author, and…

 

“Zayn. Calm down. I wasn't stalking you or something. I just figured you needed a friend and it would be weird to ask you to come with me.” That makes a lot of sense but he was still hesitant.

 

“Why haven’t you asked for like, my last name or something?” Orphelia scoffs.

 

“Didn't think it was necessary. Your last name is just something that displays you are a part of a family, and it kind of looks like you wish you weren’t. It really doesn't matter that much. Your name does not define you as a person.” Orphelia seems to always make sense. Too much sense. Zayn thinks he might have to keep her around. He could get used to this. 

 

&&&

 

Louis strolls into the coffee shop early that Wednesday morning. School has started up again and Louis couldn't be happier about it. He loves little kids, and his classes are great this year. Also, all the kids are wonderful. They actually could probably accomplish things musically. That often times doesn't occur. 

 

He's excited is the thing. Excited to talk to Eleanor, overjoyed to pick out songs for the receptions, year one’s, and two’s, and three’s for their fall concert. Just overall ecstatic. He orders a cup of black coffee and a cinnamon scone. Perfect way to wake up a tad more. To let his eyes adjust to daylight and awaken all of his systems.

 

He grabs a table made for two near a window in the center of the shop, and sits down to wait for El to show up. She finally does about fifteen minutes later. It’s only right. He was early. He’s always early.

 

“Good morning Louis.” She smiles sleepily and yawns. 

 

“Morning El.” He lazily smiles back.

 

“How long have you been here?” She looks genuinely curious, not intruding. Louis loves that about her.

 

“About twenty minutes. Why?” Eleanor shakes her head as if what he said was hilarious. Louis doesn't understand the joke.

 

“You’re always early for everything. It’s adorable” He knows she means it.

 

“No coffee for you?” He just noticed that she hadn't gotten anything. Hadn't even taken off her scarf or mittens.

 

“Mark made me pancakes this morning and I didn't want to disappoint either of you, so I figured I’d eat his breakfast and then just come and chat with you.” Eleanor is far too thoughtful and considerate for her own good. Louis really doesn't know how he managed to get a friend like her, but he did.

 

“I love you, Ellie.” She scrunches her nose up in distaste. 

 

“Ew, gross. Everything in that statement was absolutely disgusting. Please never say that again.” She’s so theatrical, Louis is constantly astounded by the feet that she is a math teacher, and not a drama one. Then again she always tells him the same. They really are a perfect pair. That’s good. Louis needs someone to talk about his boy troubles, he seems to have a lot of those. Definitely more than her, then again she’s engaged. It only makes sense.

 

“Now where’s the fun in that… Ellie.” He knows how much she hates that and really that's what friends are for. They tease each other, otherwise what's the point, honestly?

 

“I swear to god, Louis Tomlinson, I will kill you if you call me Ellie one more time.” Louis breaks into hysterics, can’t help it truly.

 

“I’d like to see you try.”


	3. L/H/N/L/Z

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dentist office is a great place.

The office is noticeably quiet that day. It’s a fairly peculiar situation. Liam’s office is never silent. He just sits there and basks in it for a second. It’s entirely pleasing. He’s resting his eyes while his feet have been kicked onto the top of his desk. He’s in a mode of pure relaxation. Of course a knock has to interrupt him a minute later. He sighs somewhat in disappointment, but tells whoever it is to come in.

 

“Sorry to bother you Doctor Payne, but someone from Denti is here to see you. Says it’s important.” Liam nods. Of course it’s important. Everything but peace is significant in this building. He walks out of his personal room, and heads to the lobby, the sound of noisy children ever present. He knows what person he is required to speak to immediately. It just had to be Eva didn't it?

 

“Good afternoon Dr. Payne. I have some business matters to discuss with you.” Liam nods then waves for her to follow him. She does, certainly she does. This is business. It has nothing to do with his personal life. He knows that but he wishes it was Kye or Quinten. Anyone but her. They both enter the room, and immediately she sits down. Liam figures he’s going to have to shut the door even though he wasn’t the last one inside. 

 

That’s such an Eva thing to do. He despises it with the entirety of his being. Liam pads over to his desk and sits down. He’s used to his scrubs by now, he is. It’s just today they seem to rub him the wrong way. Kind of like Eva, except that’s a common occurrence when he sees her. He turns to face her, and suddenly the halcyon of the room disperses. ‘Thanks for that’ he thinks. 

 

“So, Denti has produced a new model for your current whitening system, and was considering giving you a free upgrade, because you’ve been such a great client.” Her face is even and smooth, but her words nip at his neck; sharp like fangs. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be great. What do I have to sign?” His tone equals the excitement of hers. He wants this conversation to end as fast as possible, and he’s not going to try and hide it. 

 

“My boss will send you the forms in the mail. Should be in by Monday, I presume.” She’s trying to sound impressive, and he knows it. Attempting to flaunt the fact of how on top of things their company is. Liam knows it’s ridiculous, and childish but it still doesn’t make him feel good. He loves his job, and he wants people to see that. He wants them to look at him and go ‘Oh, you must love what you do’, because he does. He absolutely does, no doubt about it. For some reason Eva likes to downgrade his office. Show just how low class it is.

 

He wants her to leave. “Is that all Ms. Dayes?” He asks, his tone laced with boredom. 

 

“I suppose it is, yes. I’ll call you with the shipment plan, alright?” Liam mentally rolls his eyes. That’s sort of her job. She doesn’t have to say that, he already knows. 

 

“Okay. Thank you, have a great day.” He doesn’t mean it. He says it anyway.

 

&&&

 

Harry had to be up early that morning. He was actually looking forward to today. It was strange, but he really appreciated the fact that out of anyone his aunt wanted him to come and support her at the dentist while she got a tooth pulled. It made him feel special, loved, wanted, or something of the sorts. 

 

Early implied getting up at six a.m. and being in the building by eight. He figured the process would not be quick, for fact that she scheduled her monthly cleaning before her actual appointment. Harry wonders what kind of person actually had monthly appointments at the dentist. Not someone who lives off of Ramen that's for sure. That someone mainly being himself. Either way he knows he will be sitting in an office for a long time. A few hours for sure, so he brings a book of crosswords with him. 

 

He's just about to leave when he receives a call. He answers it skeptically.

 

"Hello, Harry?" He probably should have looked at his caller I.D first... Oh well. 

 

“This is him. Who’s calling?” He really hopes its not a telemarketer. Harry hates telemarketers. He gets that its their job, but it's really annoying nonetheless. 

 

"This is Katrina from Furniture World. I was calling to see whether you could pick up my shift at two? I have to go get my kid from preschool, and I have no one to cover my time slot for me." Harry considers it. He doesn't want the poor child to be left alone at school, but he's not sure when his aunt will be done, and she needs a ride home. 

 

He doesn't want to accept. Doesn't even mean to, actually. It's just for the fact that he can picture a four year old sitting on the curb cold and alone. He can't let that happen, refuses to be responsible for it.

 

"Yeah, of course I'll be there." He assumes that’s it.

 

&&&

 

"Mate, get the fuck out of bed." Niall groans, and attempts to hit the snooze button on what he assumes to be his alarm. He's still got a solid fifteen minutes until he has to be up. 

 

"Niall Horan get your lazy arse up!" He doesn't remember his alarm sounding like that. He cracks his eyes open a bit, bright light filtering through his vision much too quickly. He blinks hesitantly. He really doesn't want to get up.

 

"Niall! I'm not going to tell you again!" And, oh that's not his alarm. That's definitely not his alarm. He bolts out of bed faster than he thought possible. He throws on the clothes nearest to him. Whether they're dirty or clean he doesn't care. He brushes his teeth, and tries to make his hair look presentable.

 

When he gets in his kitchen he sees Colton sitting at his table, glasses perched atop his nose. He's reading a newspaper, and munching on some fruit he's pretty sure wasn't in his fridge last night. Niall grabs his keys and phone from the living room. He's so caught up in his mindset that he's about to leave without so much as a goodbye to Colton.

 

"Hey you!" Niall shakes his head. Whoops. Niall smiles sheepishly.

 

"Cole, I really have to go. I'm late. Very late. Thank you for waking me up, bye." With that he rushes out the door. He's really glad that he gave Colton a key. Yes, he was supposed to be at the dentist at nine, and yes, it is a little past noon, but he thinks they should be able to squeeze him in. Hopefully.

 

&&&

 

Louis figured that using his lunch break to go to the dentist was a perfect idea. He had just enough time considering his free period is directly after lunch. So, he takes off the second the receptions leave, because Louis doesn't do late. He’s a bit self conscious. He probably looks like a mess. After all he was doing crafts with five year olds a few minutes ago. Either way the thought of going home to clean himself up quick doesn't even cross his mind.

 

Louis likes the dentist. Likes how his teeth feel after they’re all polished and whitened. Likes how the newest dentist is rather cute, and he comes really close to his face (if only because he has to). Likes how having clean teeth and fresh breath make him feel just the smallest fraction better about himself. Which brings him back to the mess bit. He'd rather not have blue fingers, a stained t-shirt, and a glittery face when he sees the so said cute dentist, but there isn't much he can do about that. Except go home, and be late.

 

He's discovered that his thoughts are comparatively repetitive, and if anyone around him had the ability to tell what he was thinking they would get bored relatively quickly. He sighs because simple things like these can seem so tough even when they are not. He knows how silly it sounds to be tossing and turning at night over whether students thought you did an alright job today, or if your mum misses you, or even what you are going to have for breakfast in the morning, but he does.

 

He dramatises little things until they become giant beasts he's struggling to fight with in a war. Razor toothed monsters with just as sharp of claws. Unbeatable things that leave you feeling defeated before you’ve even attempted conquering them. Making mountains out of molehills or something of the sorts. He's not sure how his mind switched from hot dentists to conquering mountains, but he's not going to question it. Not today. 

 

&&&

 

Zayn is at a banquet he wasn't really invited to. He had recently been working on the set of a new movie, styling the male and female leads hair. They were having a celebratory brunch to congratulate the cast on wrapping up the movie last week. Zayn knew it was mainly just for important people. The people on screen and directly behind it. Other people such as the editorial group or the costume design hadn't been invited. Not until last night anyway.

 

The two leads had liked him a fair deal. Appreciated his honesty and sense of humour. Apparently they had complained about the lack of people allowed to attend this party; Zayn being the center of the debate. So, here he is at a table of people who he doesn't know and doesn't really care to know. They're all too pretentious and proud. Proper egotistical shit heads is his technical term, but he would never say that to their faces. 

 

Instead he cuts up the smallest piece of food he doesn't know the name of, using utensils he didn't even know existed. He didn't know people had to use different chinaware for brunches then they do for dinners. He wasn't aware you were supposed to wear three different outfits before you go to sleep. Actually he was he just liked to pretend it wasn't a part of this world. Like he could still just go out onto the street and walk to a nearby shop and not be recognized, because he doesn't fit in with these people. He's not like them.

 

He likes lame pop songs that everyone knows, and he doesn't pretend that the last novel he read was War and Peace because he isn't even aware what the last novel he read was. He's happy to blend in with his own crowd; to not be noticed although that isn't possible, this is who he is. Who's he's been for years now. Brunches and red carpets are a normal occurrence in his book. 

 

He chews his food probably a lot more vigorously than he should, because he's angry with his life. Angry that this is what it has come to. He chews like there are rocks in his mouth that he's trying to grind down. Then there's a rather loud crunching sound and, fuck, that hurt. Ow. He holds his jaw although he's not really sure why. All he knows is his mouth is aching far too much. Especially since he wasn't having any pain a second ago.

 

People are beginning to circle around him in what appears to be mock concern, with distasteful expressions on their faces. That honestly just makes him feel worse. He thinks he might be able to locate the pain if he just... It's his tooth. Definitely his tooth, and it's bleeding enough to get him worried that he did something bad. It's a reasonable assumption, and there aren't many other conclusions that he can make other than the simple fact that it's broken.

 

He knows he'll have to go to the dentist to get it fixed soon. More than likely it's something that needs to be sorted out right now. Everyone's still staring, so he just apologises half heartedly and leaves. It doesn't matter that he's surrounded by so many important faces. It doesn't matter that brunch isn't over yet. It doesn't even matter that he has a considerably large fear of needles. All that concerns him in that moment is his tooth, and making sure he's not going to die. That may sound melodramatic, and it is, but he can't help but worry. What if?

 

&&&

 

That moment of silence he had earlier has completely shattered like plexi-glass. He's not even sure if plexi-glass can shatter, but that's kind of the point, isn’t it. It’s supposed to be a farce statement. Something that doesn't quite make sense, but gets the point across. It’s like a Hello My Name Is tag, except it explains in great detail how busy he is.

 

It’s driving him insane that people have been flooding through the doors for the past two hours nonstop. He needs a break, but they're short staffed and running very late. He now knows why Eva prides herself on organization. He only wishes to have that. They say you have to unclutter the mind to de-clutter the room. Maybe it’s the other way around? He‘s not positive. Either way his minds a mess, alongside everything else, so none of that appears to be happening anytime soon. 

 

He’s standing at the front desk. There are about five people in line, and the last one seems a little antsy. Is it that he doesn’t like the dentist? That’s perhaps it. Liam moves on. He could always ask when he reaches the front of the line. The first two people come and go quickly, checking in and receiving their papers efficiently. The third has a little trouble with his insurance card, but moves along fast enough. The fourth is too slow for her own good, and drives Liam up the walls with her stupid questions, but exits eventually.

 

When the fifth finally moves up to the desk, Liam is ready to ask Freya for his lunch break again. “Hi. I’m Niall Horan. I know you’re probably extremely busy,” That’s an understatement, Liam thinks. “but I woke up late, and was wondering if you could squeeze me in for sometime today before six? I have a flight at seven that I can’t miss. I understand,” 

 

Liam spaces out. He’s burning red with anger now, and he hasn’t got a clue why. He wants to scream at Freya for not giving him a lunch break. Scream at the owner for not hiring more employees faster. Scream at this customer, because in case he can’t see they don’t have time for walk ins. They do not have time for anything and…

 

“No. What makes you so special as to be able to just magically get another appointment? You missed yours. Get over it, and reschedule for next week like everyone else.” Liam’s not completely sure what just occurred. All he knows is that he’s breathing heavily and the customer, Niall he remembers, appears terrified.

 

Everyone is staring at him. Everyone. He blinks confused, then runs into the backroom. He cannot believe he just did that. At work nonetheless, in front of far too many customers. He feels bad. They’re more than likely going to lose business now, because of him. Better yet he could lose his job, completely. He runs his hands through his hair, and starts to cry. Tears flood down his face in a rushing fit of panic, because he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to make things better. 

 

Liam thinks this is the worst day ever, and it’s hardly past noon. Fantastic.


	4. H/N/L/Z/L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions, and Harry being too sweet for his own good (per usual).

Harry’s sitting in the waiting room contemplating eleven letter words for separating things by similarities, when someone starts yelling. He’s pretty sure it’s one of the workers. He’s exceedingly nervous for a fleeting moment, when he looks over and sees how tired and worn the man looks. There are dark circles under his eyes hinting at his weariness. He feels bad. It’s so busy here today, and he doesn't think that they have enough staff helping them. The lines are moving far too slow for this to be a normal day. 

 

He wants to give the man a hug. Obviously that would be a little weird, so he goes against it. He can’t just do nothing though. He bites his lip in deep concentration. He has to think of something, anything. What would he want if he was super stressed? A massage would probably be the first thing. Maybe some tea. He debates a little longer, before he gets up to run to a nearby shop quickly. It’s rather cold for being the middle of September and it’s raining, so he’s extremely glad he brought a jacket. Despite the cold Harry loves this kind of weather. He loves how the rain falls down the window glass, and makes everything look brand new. How the drops get caught in his hair, and drip down his face. How the streets are filled to the brim with colorful umbrellas.

 

He wishes he could solely be a photographer, but he knows that’s not going to happen. How he became a double major for child psychology and photography he’s not positive. He knows no one thought he could live off of photography alone… They’re most likely right.

 

He wishes he didn’t he didn’t have to pay thousands of dollars to learn how a certain feature, of a certain model, of a certain camera works. He can barely afford his flat, let alone have the money to buy the mentioned items. He believes he would be perfectly fine without a degree in photography. He loves the classes, he does. Likes how he gets to spend his time learning new angles and taking pictures, but it takes up all his spare time and money. He could use that money to purchase a new Nikon or Polaroid, which would honestly be more helpful than the classes. A good camera is the first step, after all.

 

Harry watches as strangers dash under awnings, hoping not to get their suede shoes wet. He sees children splash in puddles, and he sees cars create tidal waves as they pass by at sixty five kilometers an hour. He thinks it looks like a daydream. If he had a camera with he wouldn’t be able to prevent himself from capturing pictures of purple polka dot boots, and rain covered sidewalks. He doesn’t have one with though, because he was just going to the dentist. He keeps walking, because this was supposed to be a quick little walk, not an hour long escapade. 

 

He approaches the door timidly. There is a small red welcome mat that reads ‘Leave negative energy outside’ in front of the shop that Harry has always loved. It is nearly as wet as his own shoes, but he wipes them off and shakes his hair out in courtesy anyway. He feels a small bit like a dog, as the water frees itself from his t-shirt and hair, but what is he going to do about it? He enters nervously. Harry knows Rockelle doesn’t mind his quiet days, but it gives him anxiety knowing she may be judging him. He doesn’t think she is, but that doesn’t rid himself of the thought. Of the what if. 

 

“Oh, Harry, I didn’t know we had a session scheduled for today.” Rockelle smiles sweetly.

 

Harry reaches in his sopping bag and takes out his surprisingly dry notepad and pen.

 

We didn’t.

 

“Okay. Would you like me to ring Anne, and make sure your payment is all good? You can take off your shoes, and I’ll meet you upstairs.” 

 

Harry shakes his head, embarrassed. He no longer lets his mum help him out financially for school and such, but he does let her pay for his yoga classes and massages. There’s no way he’d be able to afford it on his own. 

 

“Well, what do you need? I’m here for another hour if you want to do a quick session.” Harry shakes his heads. 

 

I just wanted to purchase a massage for a friend. 

 

Rockelle grins.

 

“Oh, a friend. I see. Is there something you’re not telling me Harry?” He looks at her, confused.

 

What do you mean? I was at the dentist, and he looked really stressed, so I wanted to be nice and help him relax.

 

She nods understandingly, obviously processing what Harry did. She thinks he must be some kind of angel. That there’s no way he’s fully human, because he’s more considerate, and thoughtful and kind without words, than anyone with them is. She wishes he didn’t feel the way he does. Wants there to be a way for her to fix him. She cannot fix him, though. He has to fix himself. He has to want to fix himself. 

 

Rockelle’s entirely wrapped up in her thoughts, and Harry doesn’t seem to mind at all. He enjoys silence between people. He likes having a five minute no talking rule occasionally. It calms his brain, and helps him to remind himself that, the chaos that is vowels and consonants can be simplified by not talking at all. Everything is much easier when there is a solution to your problem, whether it be temporary or not. 

 

She startles herself out of her head a few seconds later and the silence is broken, but it doesn’t seem as bad. Much less overwhelming, anyway. It pleases Harry. 

 

“I’ll go ring that up. Will you grab my card with the address on it for him, please?” Harry smiles genuinely, and nods. 

 

Rockelle returns with a receipt that Harry knows is really for his mother. He is curious as to why she doesn’t just email it to her. Maybe she asked her to give him a paper copy, because she likes them? Or maybe it’s just an excuse to see Harry. Both options are fine by him. 

 

“What day and time should I schedule them for?”

 

Harry thinks about it. He’s not sure. He doesn’t know what time dentist offices close, or what time he gets off of work. He doesn’t know much at all, really. This place closes at six though, and he’d rather like if it could be today, so Harry writes him down for five o’clock p.m. It should work, and if it doesn’t he can always set up a new appointment. 

 

“Got it figured out?” She asks and Harry nods. 

 

“What is this guy’s name?” She questions, and oh. He never thought about that. About how they kind of need a name. He perhaps should have panned this out better. Oh well. Maybe spontaneity will be his new thing.

 

He’ll tell you that Harry Styles sent him. Make sure you’re ready when he gets here.

 

With that Harry waves goodbye, stepping back out into the rain showers. He stops by a tea shop on his way back and gets two cups of Yorkshire. He hopes this man likes that. Before he leaves he grabs two sticks of honey and a few sugar packets since he’s not sure how he takes it. 

 

When he arrives at the front desk, the boy’s no longer there. He smiles sheepishly at the woman then hands her the tea, the massage card, and a note that reads.

 

This for the guy who yelled earlier. Tell him I hope his day gets better. His massage is at five, and the address is on the card. Tell him he can reschedule with Rockelle Williams if need be. When, and if he doesn’t like his tea, there’s one on the house for him at Kay’s down the road. Thank you!

 

Harry’s really proud of himself, and the lady looks astounded but nods nonetheless. He believes he has done an alright job today.

 

&&&

 

Waiting rooms are one of Niall’s least favorite things in the world. He himself cannot stand waiting, but it miraculously becomes so much worse when you’re sitting in a room full of impatient people. For some rationale there is always crying kids, tapping feet, and the flipping of magazine pages. He despises it. It seems incredibly loud in the silence.

 

He can’t comprehend why, and for what reason that guy went off on him either. It was so uncalled for is the thing. He understands they’re busy, and he’s tired and whatever else, but that had nothing to do with him. Sure, he was late but that’s understandable. He was just trying to shake the jet leg off before he has to get on a plane once again. It was definitely interesting, though. It hurt his feelings a bit, yeah, but it was also exhilarating. It was something new and Niall loved it. 

 

Except now everyone keeps randomly sneaking glances at him like he belongs in a freak show. If anyone does it’s the other guy, not him, that’s crazy. He just wanted a new appointment. The other people at the front desk had apologized profusely, on behalf of the man’s behavior, and offered him a free cleaning in forty minutes. Who was he to turn down that? So he’s sitting in the waiting room even though he hates them. 

 

Someone sits down beside him. He appears to be absolutely glowing. Niall throws a smile in his direction and he turns away blushing. Niall thinks that maybe he wants to talk to someone, and he’s got nothing better to do than chat with a stranger for a bit. Well, at least until it’s time for his appointment.

 

“What’s got you so smiley?” Niall asks. The boy turns to look at him then blushes and points at himself. “Yeah, you. You look like a kid who just got told they’re going to Disney World.” The guy giggles, actually giggles shyly then covers his mouth as if he’s made a mistake. The man pulls out a notepad and a blue pen then scribbles something down. 

 

I think I made someone smile. 

 

Niall looks at him curiously. “Do you not talk or something?” The boy shakes his head.

 

“Just not in the mood today?” Niall tries again. This is interesting, too. He’s having a rather good day for waking up late. The guy nods again this time agreeing. This guy is so shy, and different from everyone he knows. He didn’t know someone could be so timid.

 

“So you made someone smile, and that made your day?” Harry scribbles on the paper again. 

 

How could it not?

 

Niall thinks about it. How could other people being happy make you happy? That doesn’t actually make any sense.

 

“I don’t know, how someone else having a good day can make you have one as well. How does that work?” 

 

He scrunches his nose in disbelief, like he can’t understand how Niall doesn’t get it.

 

I guess it’s not that way for everyone. I just love making people smile. 

 

Niall thinks even though he doesn’t really get it, he wants to. He wants to understand this boy and how his mind works because that would be an adventure.

 

&&&

 

Louis is in line and it’s taking way too long. He hasn’t been late to anything since his junior prom, and he wouldn’t like to start now. Even if it isn’t his fault. He’s getting jittery and nervous; uncomfortable in the crowded office. He has approximately two minutes, and this line isn’t going anywhere. The man at the counter looks like he’s about to explode. ‘You and me both mate’ he thinks. Eventually the person in the front of the line makes a move to go sit down and Louis sighs in relief and satisfaction

 

. “Hi. How can I help you?” This guy is clearly about to break, so Louis tries his best to control his anxiety.

 

“I have an appointment at twelve thirty.” Louis states as calm as possible. He’s almost positive it’s after twelve thirty, and he’s far from happy about it.

 

“Name?” The dentist is obviously irritated. Louis wonders what’s wrong with this man. It has to be something other than simply being much too busy. He replies anyway.

 

“Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.” The man nods and types something into his computer. 

 

“You’ll need to fill out these forms. Please return them as soon as possible.” Louis nods reluctantly. He always dreads having to fill out forms, especially medical ones. He looks around, and eventually spots a seat next to a dark haired man clutching his jaw in pain. Louis thinks this must be one of those extremely coincidental times when everyone simultaneously has a bad day. He plops down, and sighs. The man next to him eyes him curiously, but says nothing.

 

It only makes sense if his jaw is in as much pain as the man looks to be. Louis’ cleaning suddenly seems a lot less important.

 

“Are you okay?” Louis questions. The man shakes his head, then winces.

 

“Broke my tooth.” he groans in discontent.

 

“How’d you manage that?” Louis gazes at him incredulously. How do you break a tooth? Aren’t your teeth supposed to be incredibly strong? Stronger than your bones even? He’s never met someone that’s broke a tooth, yet alone talked to one.

 

“Let’s just say you should never eat while angry.” 

 

Louis grins. 

 

“Similar effects to drinking and driving, or something yeah?” The man holds back a laugh, then mumbles what resembles a curse. Maybe jokes aren’t the best right now?

 

“Something like that, yes.” Louis then remembers his papers, and how he’s already late enough. 

 

“Guess I need to fill these out, yeah?” The man nods, and then returns to what he was doing before he met Louis. When he completes the forms, he returns them to a man at the front desk, and hands over his insurance card. Except, it rejects it. 

 

He’s suddenly back to the bad day theory, because why? This shouldn’t have to take this long, or be this difficult. He’s sure he’ll need to get back to the school soon, he obviously can’t be late. He wishes he had worn a watch, or brought along his cell phone, but no such luck. 

 

They end up needing to contact the insurance company to set things straight. By the time they’re done the dentist looks even worse off than before. He appears agitated beyond belief. Louis thanks him earnestly for his time, hoping all of their days will become the smallest fraction better. 

 

&&&

 

Zayn has been in the sitting area for what feels like an eternity. He knows they're busy, but his tooth is broken, for gods sake. He wouldn't be so frustrated if his tooth and jaw alike didn't ache so much. The guy next to him is tapping his foot impatiently and Zayn is getting annoyed. As if he didn’t already have enough of a headache. He's just about to speak up when the guy apologises.

 

"Sorry, mate. Am I bothering you? It's just I'm late. Very late, and I have a flight to catch soon." The guy sighs, and Zayn kind of sympathises with him. He's got a broken tooth and this guy's got a flight to catch. They're kind of in the same boat, minus the fact that Zayn's pretty sure he's in a little more physical pain.

 

"Why are you here?" This man is full of questions. Zayn sighs.

 

"Broke my tooth." Zayn groans. He almost wishes people would stop asking, except not really. He's rather keen on the whole concept of complaining, and takes advantage of it at any given opportunity.

 

"Oh I've done that before. Sucks." Zayn nods. He's glad he's not the only one stupid enough to break a tooth. 

 

"What about you?" He asks. "Why are you here?" The man smiles.

 

"I'm not supposed to be." Zayn looks at him like he's just grown two heads.

 

"What do you mean?" The guy shakes his head and laughs as if it's some kind of joke he's not in on. He's not sure how he feels about that. A bit left out he guesses.

 

"Woke up late. I just came in from a flight in the states yesterday and now I'm off to somewhere in Africa. I forget. Too many things to do, memory’s a little shot." Zayn smiles knowingly. He can relate.

 

"I know exactly how you feel.” He's completely serious. Fame comes with a large price that Zayn isn’t fond of. Come to think of it, it comes with a lot of those. Seasons no longer include the weather, and sweatpants cost him hundreds for a pair. He's glad he's not alone. 

 

"I highly doubt that." Zayn figured he would. Not many would recognize him but that doesn't mean he doesn't have to play the part.

 

"Zayn Malik." he reaches his hand out to shake the man’s. A hint of recognition flashes across his face and he smirks.

 

"Niall Horan. I have one of your combs." Zayn stares blankly at the cloud covered sky. It's dreary, almost depressing. That's all part of the Manchester charm though. 

 

Niall’s statement confuses him. He doesn't think he has any merchandise yet, let alone a line of combs. That's too cheesy for god’s sake. He must be kidding. A dumb joke or something. Zayn likes dumb jokes. 

 

"I think we are going to get along just fine, Niall Horan." For once he actually means it. 

 

&&&

 

Harry’s aunt is due out in fifteen minutes. He comes to the conclusion that he’s been extremely productive for sitting at the dentist all morning. The boy next to him; Niall is blabbering on to some guy on his left. He thinks he overheard Niall call him Zayn. The dentist appears to be filled to the brim with beautiful faces today. It's not helping his stutter whatsoever, but he's pleased. That means he doesn't have to be bored. He can just... look. 

 

He's staring at Zayn's jawline as if puzzled when someone taps on his shoulder.

 

"Harry, mate? This is Zayn. He likes to touch people's hair." Niall grins and Zayn whacks his shoulder.

 

"Don't make me sound like a perv, Jesus." Zayn looks offended, before his face breaks into what seems to be a beautiful, yet painful smile.

 

"Harry here doesn't feel like talking today." Niall shrugs unapologetically.

 

"Happens to the best of us." Zayn mutters. He strikes Harry as being earnest. He without a doubt appreciates that, so he nods like he agrees that he could actually fall into the group entitled 'the best of us'. He knows he couldn’t, but he’s not about to disagree.

 

“Niall here, tells me you gave that dentist tea and a massage. That’s very nice of you. I never would think of something like that.” Zayn looks genuinely honest. As if he surely thinks what Harry has done is something noteworthy. That makes him feel somewhat… proud. That he did something unquestionably good, and someone noticed.

 

Harry decides he needs to thank him, so he flips out his notepad and begins to sketch. He marks the paper in blue ink, looking up and down from time to time. Zayn glances at him curiously, but he smiles nonetheless. His pen creates something beautiful. Harry scribbles a note into the bottom left corner, before handing it to Zayn. Zayn’s eyes widen in what looks to be amazement for a few minutes, before Harry gets worried, and gives him another note. 

 

Do you like it?

 

Zayn only nods a yes. Niall is the first to speak up. 

 

“Um, okay, wow. Harry, are you secretly famous or something, because that took you all of five minutes, and wow.” Niall seems nearly speechless. Like he’s trying, but can’t find the words. Harry’s not absolutely positive that’s a good thing. 

 

“Harry.” He sounds like he just ran a marathon. 

 

“This is completely breathtaking. How do you do that?” Harry feels shy, almost embarrassed. He just wanted to thank him and thought a drawing would be a nice touch. Nothing to make Zayn question his abilities. He’s really not that good. Harry chooses not to respond. Instead he stares at a fountain in the middle of the room, where he knows a school of koi's swim around inside. 

 

If he were at the dentist any other day, that’s where he would go to fill out his paperwork. He’d sit on the ledge of the fountain, and simply watch the fish float by. Not today, though. Today he’s on the chairs next to an overly impressed Niall Horan. Zayn is trying to catch his attention. Harry only switches his gaze when someone plops down in the seat adjacent to Zayn, and sighs. 

 

“My credit card isn’t working either. They are never going to let me come back again.” That causes both boys to stop poking at Harry momentarily, so he’s grateful. 

 

“This is what I like to call a universally terrible day.” Niall mumbles sympathetically. “Hi, I’m Niall Horan. You are?” The man looks up from his hunched over position. 

 

“Louis Tomlinson.” Niall smiles. 

 

“That’s French, right? Louis? Spelt L-O-U-I-S?” Louis quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, how did you know?” He looks as if he’s used to people getting his name wrong, and is genuinely surprised that Niall didn’t. Harry is not surprised at all. Niall gives the impression that he knows everything. 

 

“There’s some designer with the same name.” Louis shakes his head knowingly, like he gets that a lot, too. Harry’s glad he’s just Harry. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just like that.” Louis half smiles before directing his attention towards Harry. 

 

“Who does that make you then?” Harry blushes. It’s only natural. It’s not everyday that gorgeous human beings ask him questions, let alone four of them. This one has sparkling blue eyes, though, and really he can’t win today. He’s about to panic, because it’s not like he’s going to talk anytime soon. He doesn’t want Louis to hate him, or think he’s weird.

 

“This is Harry Styles. He doesn’t like to talk. He also is an amazing artist. I mean, look at this. Look at it!” Niall holds the sketch up beside Zayn’s face while Zayn attempts to mimic the expression. 

 

“Wow. A name of a prince, and art skills. How are you not famous already?” Louis grins so wide that the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, and if that isn’t one of the most beautiful things Harry’s ever seen. Harry thinks that this boy may redefine the word beauty. His smile shines so brightly that it may rival the sun. Harry’s been staring for too long, and he knows it. 

 

They’re all chuckling about something now. Maybe him, maybe Louis’ mention that Harry could be a prince, or maybe it’s something else entirely different. Now he has one more thing to be distracted by. Louis bounces, grabbing his stomach almost as if he were in physical pain. His eyes remain crinkled, and his smile doesn’t dissipate even for a second. He looks so happy, like nothing in the world has disappointed him yet. Like maybe if Louis keeps smiling, Harry should probably actually smile, too. Smile a lot more than he does, because what is there to be sad about when people like Louis exist?

 

People like Louis exist. He can’t quite wrap his head around it. It’s almost as if he just discovered that the world is not flat. That we’re all constantly spinning in circles, but fail to become dizzy. It’s something Harry will never be able to fully comprehend, always too big to wrap his head around. He’s pretty sure he’s okay with that. 

 

&&&

 

Someone is trying to open the door to the supply closet. Liam’s just hoping that they don’t actually need anything, otherwise he’ll have to feel bad for not opening the door. He’s stopped crying, but he doesn’t want to come out. He wants to do nothing but pot. He doesn’t want to have to be an adult. He knows his face is more than likely blotchy and red. Tear tracks undoubtedly stain his face, and he’s positive he looks miserable. He wants it to be his day off. He has seemed to have less and less of those lately. He could definitely use one. 

 

The person behind the door is relentless for a minute longer, before Liam thinks he hears them sigh and walk away. Good, it wasn’t that important then. “Liam, come out here.” It sounds like someone's pressed against the door straining for a reply. 

 

“No.” He croaks. Even his voice echoes his melancholy. 

 

“Liam, someone left a gift for you.” He perks up at that. Who would leave him a present? After what he did? Maybe they don’t know… He should return it if they don’t already know. No one would want to give him a gift after that. Regardless he’s far too curious not to go out and see for himself. Liam stands up only to hit his head on a mop. He wonders why he even tries when things like this are constantly happening. It’s possible that he hasn’t really got a choice. 

 

He unlocks the door only to have Perrie wrap him in a hug. “I talked to the guy you yelled at. He understands it’s not really your fault.” Liam thinks both things are completely impossible. There’s no way that it’s not his fault, so what is there to understand? Liam believes he must start crying again, because Perrie squeezes him tighter. It might as well be how-unprofessional-can-Liam-be-today day. 

 

“You want to see your present?” Liam nods, because of course he does. He wouldn’t have come out otherwise. Perrie walks over to the break room, where Liam’s sure she has stashed the gift in her locker. She walks back out with a gigantic smile on her face and what appears to be an envelope, and a cup of tea. That’s rather thoughtful. 

 

Perrie strides away certainly to go assist another customer. Liam slides down the wall to sit on the ground. He sets down the tea, and glares at the unopened envelope. It’s very plain; just white colored paper, entirely ordinary. Except it’s addressed from someone named Harry Styles, which strikes him as being an extremely important name. Too important for him. 

 

Slowly he tucks his finger underneath the flap of the envelope, ripping open the top from corner to corner. There is a business card with a post it note on top of it on the inside. Liam decides to read the small note first. Liam is slow to process that he has just obtained a free massage and a cup of tea today. Two free cups of tea, actually. He absolutely does not deserve this. Not at all. It makes him smile, though, so he’ll take it.


	5. N/L/H

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis meet... again.

Niall is in the airport. He’s got forty minutes until he has to be at the gate to load for first class and he has nothing to do. He’s not hungry in the slightest, and really doesn’t feel like shopping in ridiculously overpriced shops. He hadn’t packed much, just a few articles of clothing, his laptop, and obviously his phone. He could play some pointless, stupid game on his phone that’d be a complete waste of time. At least if he did that he wouldn’t be so bored. Except for the fact that playing games sounds even more boring than simply staring at the wall. Maybe he could people watch. That seems to be a semi interesting thing to do. 

Sometimes… When there are actually people to watch. Right now the terminal he’s in is completely dead, empty silence engulfs the room like flames. It’s hot and suffocating and he feels entirely alone. He wonders what it’s like to work there. If they all feel the same way. They are surrounded by people going to amazing places and they’re stuck in here. Always at the airport, but never on the airplanes. He wonders if they chose not to travel on their off days, just because they already spend so much time at the airport as it is. Too much time is spent taking off their shoes and going through metal detectors. 

Maybe that’s all they do. It’s possible that they get incredible discounts when they do have the chance to travel. Maybe he should consider an occupation change. Then again it would most likely be one of the most boring jobs in existence, and Niall knows he can’t handle that. If he thinks his job is repetitive and monotonous, he doesn’t even want to know what he would be thinking working at a random shop in an airport. He has reason to believe that he might become depressed, and he doesn’t want or need that. 

Sticking to his work is a good plan. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure how much more time he had left until boarding, but people were slowly starting to filter through the gates; sitting in nearby chairs as they chat about yesterday’s news. Niall likes his own life story enough, he doesn’t need everyone else’s. He’s much more concerned with today. Today he’s got his own troubles and adventures. 

He met four boys earlier that are so different than anyone he knows. They all think differently and act differently than you would expect them to. It’s odd, running into what you feel you need, and then having to run away from it. Niall feels lonely, and he knows he’s got Colton. He had family and other friends, but none of them were what he needed at the time. Now though, he thinks friends are exactly what he needs. 

He’s leaving on a flight to Africa (probably to find more diamonds), and he can’t think of anything he’d like to do less currently.   
“Now boarding first class flight 302 to South Africa.” That was his cue. Niall slings his bag over his shoulder and sighs contently. Maybe he’ll even be able to sleep this time around. On his way in the fight attendant hands him a blanket with a warm smile on his face.

“Have a good flight, sir.” Niall nods. It’s about six twenty five p.m, and his flight is going to take about fifteen hours without layovers. It will be entirely exhausting and the jet lag will be a bitch, but he’s as optimistic as anyone who get to fly free to another country.

&&&

Louis needs to go to the craft store. His classroom was running low on construction paper and glue; both vital to a primary school classroom. With the way he’s planned out the next week he’ll need truck loads of the stuff (based off the way things have been going this so far this year). He wished that the school could supply all of this stuff. That he didn’t have use his money from his small paycheck to supply his classroom. It was worth it though. The students and parents alike loved him and his teaching method. He thinks the gratification makes having to buy cheap wine and take quick showers worthwhile. 

There’s nothing that makes him feel better than being hugged by a six year old with missing teeth. All his students are very close to him, and he considers them all a second family. Of course there are children he doesn’t like and ones that don’t like him, but overall his music classes bring the kids together.

Louis drives up to the mall in his less than mint condition car. It’s surprisingly sunny, the sky is blue and there’s barely a cloud to be seen. He wishes that he could stay out here. Maybe he could call Tanner or Stan to go out and play a little footie. Instead he’s got a mall trip and a Christmas concert to plan. It’s not so bad just not exactly his ideal. He finds a parking space somewhere within close range to a door, then walks outside. He walks slower than usual, but honestly no one could blame him with this weather. He opens a door which leads to another, and then he’s inside and everything is buzzing. 

He’s sincerely taken aback by the sheer amount of people inside on such a lovely afternoon. Then again he was always the outdoorsy type. He knows that most teenagers are not. He realizes a moment too late that he parked at the opposite end of the mall that he needed to. He never really had a good sense of direction. He walks leisurely past the shops with no real rush to be anywhere. He stops to get ice cream. He sits for a while on his phone and munches away at the waffle before returning to the task at hand. Of course that is not the only time he gets distracted. 

He ends up flipping through children's books and buying a new pair of jeans. At the checkout something catches his eye. There's a little boy on a stool all by himself. He looks young, nine or ten at the most. He's flipping through the pages of what appears to be an Emily Dickinson poetry collection. Louis taps the boy’s shoulder and the boy's swinging legs freeze. The child looks at him in a curious bewilderment.

"Mr. Tomlinson?" That gains Louis attention. He coughs awkwardly. 

"My mum works here. She couldn't get anyone to watch me, and all my friends were busy, so she brought me with her today." Payton looks embarrassed, as if Louis would judge his mother's job and a lack of places to go. Louis' been there. He gets it.

"So you decided to catch up on some good old Dickinson? You seem a bit young for that deep of stuff, quite frankly." Louis smirks so Payton knows he's only kidding. 

"Actually, I'm eight and you're never too young for good poetry." Louis can't disagree with that.

"Which one’s your favorite?" Payton looks as if he is struggling to pick just one. Louis knows that feeling. 

"Faith Is A Fine Invention." He looks so sure of himself. Louis wishes that he looked like that when he was eight.

"I'm rather fond of A Death Blow Is A Life Blow To Some." Payton sticks his tongue out in concentration as he pages through the book. 

"I haven't gone to that one yet." Louis nods. 

"Let me know if you like it. You know where to find me, Payton." Louis stops mid sentence making sure the boy is still following along. Payton nods. 

"What?" He sounds blissfully innocent. Nothing at all like those other ten year olds. 

"If you ever need anything, I’m always here." Louis smiles.

"Thank you." Payton grins like Louis just told him he won the lottery. In that moment Louis is glad he was taught to appreciate simple gestures because this is by far the best one yet.

&&&

Harry is working the desk at the furniture store today, which means he can get some of his studying done. He's got a huge exam on child brain functions, and he cannot afford to fail it. Literally. Uni is running him dry. He should really get another job. He just hasn't found the time to apply anywhere. It’s probably not his greatest idea, with his stress levels already being through the roof, but he could definitely use the extra cash. He's growing tired of McDonald's and Ramen noodles. 

He could always ask his mum for help. He didn't want to do that, though, his mum’s helped him too much as it is. She had created a college fund around 30,000 and Harry had received a scholarship for 10,000. He had no room to complain with a roof over his head and food on the table, but its still a lot more than he expected it to be. So he's catching up now. Studying various chemicals and the initial and long term reactions to when they are released. It's tedious memorization that will have little to no effect on whether Harry is a great child psychiatrist.

It's still important, nonetheless. Maybe not important enough to pay money for, but that's not his choice exactly with the profession he wants, so he can't just drop this class, also it's interesting. It's not something he'd like to spend his time doing though. He doesn't think anyone wants to spend large fragments of time cooped up alone with a book. It's hard reading and walking around the floor asking whether anyone needs anything. They almost never do, but its both polite and mandatory so he always does.

He's returned to sitting on his spinning chair, twisting slightly every now and then because his red polo and dress pants are surprisingly itchy. His hair is hanging in his face and he's having a tough time properly reading his text book so he ties it up in what he hopes is an acceptable looking bun. Not the most classy but definitely the most effective. He looks at the clock, only twenty three more minutes before he can leave. He had to open up the store this morning meaning he had been up far too early for his liking. He’d really appreciate a good nap now, or even a cup of coffee would suffice, despite not being the biggest coffee fan. 

He figures one more lap around the store should waste enough time for him to be able to change, and pack his bag immediately when he gets back. He walks slowly, stretching out time as he takes in every single recliner and love seat. When he reaches a sector of mirrors, he looks at his reflection for longer than what's probably deemed acceptable. He doesn't want to leave here looking like an exhausted mess.

A few customers ask him questions about whether they have more things stocked in the back. He takes his time with that as well knowing that if he didn't, he’d reach the desk and only seconds would have passed. It always seems to work like that. You always get the opposite of what you want with time. It's truly never on your side. 

He ends up having to help an old man carry a leather love seat out to his car, and by the time Harry's back inside its fifteen minutes past the end of his shift. He changes quickly, excited at the prospect of curling up on his own couch for a light slumber. He throws his drawstring over his shoulders, not even bothering to put his books, phone, or keys into it. He does have arms for a reason. The faster he can leave the better.

Katrina bids him a quick goodbye as he hustles out of the break room and back into the showroom. He skitters across the carpet now out of his uncomfortable uniform and into a loose t-shirt and some black skinny jeans. He enters the main part of the mall, and is entirely stunned by the sheer volume of the premises. Everyone sounds like they're screaming, and it startled Harry into dropping his books, and everything else he had previously collected in his arms go crumbling on the ground. He just stands there for a moment before noticing people staring. He then tries as quickly as possible to get out of everyone's way.

He ducks down grabs everything he dropped in a tight embrace, then spins around a little too quickly. A man had been standing right behind him, and Harry running into him caused the man to lose his balance entirely falling into a conveniently placed fountain abaft him.They both freeze, completely unsure as to how to react to such an odd situation. 

“Oops,” Harry squeaks. Louis’ smile spreads slowly then all at once.

“Hi.” he says.

&&&

“Harry you really don’t have to do this...I’m fine really.” Louis mumbles quietly. He’s dripping wet and his shoes are squeaking obnoxiously loud. His bum also hurts quite a bit, because it's not like the fountain was deep. It's a good thing he didn't hit his head.

"Y-y-you said you needed stuff. I-I'll get your stuff." Harry's statement is quite firm despite the stuttering. Louis now knows why he didn't talk at the dentist. Louis probably wouldn't want to talk either.

"It's just some paper and glue for school, nothing big. You really don't need to go through all this hassle. It didn't look like you tried to push me into the fountain." Harry turns back to where the two had been holding hands for the fact that Harry was literally dragging him along to the craft store, to pay for Louis so that he could make it up to him. 

Harry blushes a deep scarlet red then releases his ironclad grip. Louis fingers were aching a bit but he almost missed the contact. Harry was too adorable.

“If you really want to pay, go ahead. I'm not stopping you. I just don't want you to feel like you owe me something.” That makes Harry combust into a beautiful dimpled smile. Harry nods his head in the direction of the art supplies company, gestures for Louis to follow him, but not grabbing back onto his hand. Louis can't help but feel the smallest bit of disappointment.

&&&

After the pair checked out together, Louis offers to give Harry a ride home and since he had taken the train there, who was he to refuse? Louis tried to start a conversation multiple times but Harry's stutter kept getting in the way, and since he was very self conscious about it he had resorted back to his notepad. 

Were those clothes really expensive? They look expensive. Louis shakes his head.

“No. One of my friends is a designer and he likes to use me as a model sometimes. He lets me keep the clothes afterwards and nothing is ruined so stop worrying.” Louis rubs Harry's hair like a brother would do to a sister, and although Louis just said not to worry he's kind of worried.   
Are you sure? I can get you... Louis knocks the pencil out of Harry’s hand.

“Harry Styles, don't you dare finish that sentence. You are not buying me new clothes and that's final.” Harry sighs in relief nevertheless. They approach Harry’s building faster than either of them would have liked. Harry’s just about to exit the car when Louis taps his shoulder. 

“Will you give me your number?” 

Who is Harry to say no to that?


End file.
